At the market of Porta Palazzo, they line up, they line up
the females (aged) for boys they line up, they're into habits (they come and go).
And one can guess what's under their skirts, under their skirts.
And one can guess what's under their skirts, their black skirts.
And above the loading dock they're queuing, they're queuing
the men (aged) for sticks, they line up on the concrete.
And they let theirselves be searched under their jackets, under their jackets.
And they let theirselves be searched under their jackets to be resewed.
But one morning of winter moon there was the snow, there was the snow
on the square there comes a hell and everyone's wonders: "and how, and where".
From the tail of the load someone's shouting, someone's shouting
on the square of Porta Palazzo there breaks the line inside the girls.
And there's one of them lying on the ground, above the snow evaporating, there's one of them lying on the ground and all the others make a crown around her.
And at 7.45 am yet it was born yet it was out,
at 7.45 am, they've laid it onto the flowers' counter.
"Documents please", says the guard as soon as he's come
breathless from the load to see what there was happening.
"Documents please and also something to declare,
this is a case of de-impregnatment onto the city public soil".
But documents, there are none of them, and neither someone who says anything,
only people pulling and pushing around carnations and gardenias.
Documents, there's none of them, and almost nothing more to be documented,
it's just that one day of winter moon each one in the square has wanted his flower.
It comes back again the queue from the load, back to the line, back to the habits
of the men aged for sticks, of the females for boys,
who let theirselves be searched under their jackets, under their jackets,
and one can guess what's under their skirts, their black skirts.